The Butt of Our Jokes

(or Vice Versa)

Plus young guns, nurses not to mess with and sectarian squirrels.

Losing the battle of the sexes… As so often happens, with this yarn from GeeRichard we unwittingly introduce a theme of sorts that will, as astute readers will see, pop up throughout this month's Diary. Given the nature of the, er, theme, we apologize in advance to the easily offended and remind them that (to paraphrase a certain children's book) everybody has a butt:

"Fresh from her shower, the lady stands in front of the mirror, scowling. 'Why the frown?' her husband asks.

"'I think my breasts are too small,' she replies.

"The guy offers a suggestion: 'If you want your breasts to grow, then every day, you take a piece of toilet paper and rub it between then for a few seconds.'

"Willing to try anything, the lady fetches a piece of toilet paper. As she rubs between her breasts, she asks, 'How long will this take to work?'

"'Probably a few years,' he replies.

"She asks, 'What makes you think this will work?'

"Without missing a beat, he says, 'Worked for your butt, didn't it?'

"Unbelievably, the guy is still alive. With continued therapy, he may walk again, albeit still taking his meals through a straw."

Annals of technology… Then there's this one from Ned Ludd, which we have presented as tastefully as possible, given the subject matter:

"I was in Starbucks recently when I suddenly realized I desperately needed to pass gas. The music was really loud so I timed my release with the beat of the music.

"After a couple of songs I started to feel better. I finished my coffee and noticed that everyone was staring at me.

"And suddenly I remembered I was listening to my iPod!"

You're only as old as you feel… Nothing rearward about this bittersweet little tale from the Packrat Out Back, thank goodness:

"A man was walking through a city park one day and came upon an upset older lady sitting on the park bench crying. Thinking perhaps he could help, he walked up to the lady and asked what was wrong and if there was anything he could do for her. Through sniffles, she replied, 'My son fixes me hotcakes or French toast and eggs in addition to fresh-squeezed orange juice every morning as soon as I get out of bed.' The man tried to interrupt, but the lady continued, 'And for lunch he makes me a delicious sandwich, potato salad and fresh brownies for dessert.'

"Still refusing to be interrupted, she added that for dinner her son always had a wonderful home-cooked meal on the table, plus a pie or cake that he had just made from scratch. 'Not only that, he does all the cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping and bill paying for me,' she sniffed.

"The lady paused to catch her breath, and the man quickly interjected, 'That's all wonderful! I can't understand why you are so distraught. It sounds to me that your son treats you like a queen.'

"The woman replied, 'Oh, he does, he does, but I can't remember where I live!'"

This one from Farmor, the Swedish Grandma, however… well, at least it offers a more upbeat view of aging:

"An old prospector shuffled into the town of El Indio, Texas, leading a tired old mule. The old man headed straight for the only saloon in town, to clear his parched throat. He walked up to the saloon and tied his old mule to the hitch rail.

"As he stood there, brushing some of the dust from his face and clothes, a young gunslinger stepped out of the saloon with a gun in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. The young gunslinger looked at the old man and laughed, saying, 'Hey, old man, can you dance?'

"The old man looked up at the gunslinger and said, 'No, son, I don't dance. Never really wanted to.'

"A crowd had gathered as the gunslinger grinned and said, 'Well, you old fool, you're gonna dance now!' and started shooting at the old man's feet.

"The old prospector, not wanting to get a toe blown off, started hopping around like a flea on a hot skillet. Everybody standing around was laughing. When his last bullet had been fired, the young gunslinger, still laughing, holstered his gun and turned around to go back into the saloon.

"The old man turned to his pack mule, pulled out a double-barreled 12-gauge shotgun and cocked both hammers. The loud clicks carried clearly through the desert air. The crowd stopped laughing immediately.

"The young gunslinger heard the sounds, too, and he turned around very slowly. The silence was deafening. The crowd watched as the young gunman stared at the old timer and the large gaping holes of those twin 12-gauge barrels.

"The barrels of the shotgun never wavered in the old man's hands, as he quietly said, 'Son, have you ever kissed a mule's ass?'

" • And finally, don't screw around with old folks; they didn't get old by being stupid."

Annals of medicine… With a completely different, er, angle on this month's accidental leitmotif, here's the Silver City Greek:

"A big-shot attorney had to spend a couple of days in the hospital. He was a royal pain to the nurses because he bossed them around just like he did his staff. None of the hospital staff wanted to have anything to do with him. The head nurse was the only one who could stand up to him. She came into his room and announced, 'I have to take your temperature.'

"After complaining for several minutes, he finally settled down, crossed his arms and opened his mouth.

"'No, I'm sorry,' the nurse stated, 'but for this reading, I can't use an oral thermometer.' This started another round of complaining, but eventually he rolled over and bared his behind.

"After feeling the nurse insert the thermometer, he heard her announce, 'I have to get something. Now you stay JUST LIKE THAT until I get back!'

"She left the door to his room open on her way out. He cursed under his breath as he heard people walking past his door, laughing.

"After about 20 minutes, the man's doctor came into the room. 'What's going on here?' asked the doctor.

"Angrily, the man answered, 'What's the matter, Doc? Haven't you ever seen someone having their temperature taken?'